


Loki's Weapon

by dagonst



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-13 08:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12980361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dagonst/pseuds/dagonst
Summary: An enterprising SHIELD/HYDRA agent defrosts the Winter Soldier to help Loki conquer Earth.





	1. Barton

The first thing Clint Barton said when he saw Bucky Barnes in the flesh was, “Loki is going to kill you.” He wasn’t talking to Barnes - he was talking over his head, to Agent Rollins. 

And he was mentally revising his roster for the next mission - mostly mercenaries and other unknowns, he had been counting on Rollins. But the scepter had given the agent a bug in his brain. Doctor Selvig started requesting equipment and arcane supplies to build some device he thought needed; Rollins had decided to recruit the Winter Soldier. Clint didn’t know what story he’d told Loki to get permission to go ghost-hunting, but it had not ended well.

Natasha had half-remembered a faceless man with a shining arm, standing on a rise watching her shots go wild. If he had thought about what Rollins might bring back, he would have expected some boasting Russian merc reeking of vodka. More likely nothing. What Rollins brought in was a kid, old enough to be a rookie agent but not a half-imaginary master assassin. A _sick_ kid, with dead-white skin and tangled hair, arms wrapped tight around his chest and eyes going everywhere. Fresh from cryo, Barnes looked like a junkie. A drowned-rat vampire junkie.

“He just woke up. You’ll see. _Attention._ ” The drowned rat dropped his arms, looked to Rollins. His eyes still didn’t focus, and another violent tremor ran through his painfully straight body. 

Barton looked hard at the two of them. “Give the boy a hot meal and a haircut, put him in a corner somewhere. Keep him away from Loki, maybe you’ll both live.” 

Rollins smirked for what looked at the time like no reason whatsoever. “You aren’t my boss.” Then Rollins told the kid, “Come.” The kid didn’t move, probably his teeth were chattering too hard to hear. Rollins grabbed his arm and shoved him a couple steps, so his arms came uncrossed. The light glinted off his hand - metal. Rollins had gotten that much right. Clint didn’t see him fight until later, didn’t know his name until after everything. But he knew that in that condition the Winter Soldier could only be a liability, and Loki would not like that one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He takes a while to warm up, that’s all. A few hours ago he was an ice cube.” One of Loki's SHIELD "recruits" decides to bring in the Winter Soldier.

The agent - not his usual handler, but a known quantity - waves hands at him. Two, three times, before shoving him down with a boot to his knee to make him fold. He catches himself before his hands hit the floor. He stays, kneeling; it’s easier than standing. No further correction comes.

“Slow on the uptake, your Winter Soldier.”

“He takes a while to warm up, that’s all. A few hours ago he was an ice cube.” There are no excuses for failure. He stops trying to remember the man’s name.

You talk to him, the agent had just said. Answer his questions. _English._ Follow his orders. The handler’s eyes glow blue like - like a weapon. A good one. He remembers holding one, in both hands. Otherwise human, fragile. 

“Do you understand why you must kneel to me?” The officer wears armor that creaks as he walks, a helmet with curved horns. Visible weapon, a short spear, unknown make. He is not Russian, but speaks like one. 

“Nyet.” Understanding is not required, only compliance. Later he will pay for _nyet_ , even though the officer spoke first. 

The officer smiles. “I am Loki of Asgard, who will be king of your realm. Mortals who would serve me must kneel.” 

Even kneeling, he doesn’t follow well. Mortals are people, like the agent who had him woken. Mortals must kneel but he is not like the agent, is not - is not. He stands, head spinning. Insufficient preparation before the mission. 

“Get _down._ Do what he says. Don’t fucking try to think.” The new handler. He kneels, tries to catch his thoughts.

Loki of Asgard paces. 

“Tell me about Captain America.”

“I have no information.” 

“You fought at his side. Or so I was told.” 

“I have no information.” He shoots a irritated look at the agent. The name comes to him, now that he doesn’t want it. Rollins, who hadn’t had time for him to be briefed first.

“They always fry his brain after missions. He remembers anyway - old things - they haven’t been able to burn the Russian out of him, you heard, and Captain America was before -”

“Silence.” Loki of Asgard stops in front of him, crouches down so that he cannot avoid looking. He holds the spear loosely, confident that no-one would take it from him. “I order you to remember.” His voice is patient; the demand is not.

But there’s nothing. Loki touches his forehead, two fingers - he flinches away, shuts his eyes. The silence is a roaring howl, wind and biting cold. He was cold before, Rollins was in a hurry. This is worse. He’s fallen forward, both hands braced against the solid ground. One hand gleams metal. He blinks at it, remembers that that’s his. “Falling. I fell - I lost -” Somewhere cold. Wind.

“Enough.” Loki stands, wheeling on Rollins. “You promised me Earth’s greatest warrior. The companion of Captain America, now freed - as I will free you all - from the burden of choice, of freedom. And you give me a mockery. A broken toy.”

The thought of being broken, needing repairs - he pushes himself up, stands. “A weapon.” 

Loki turns back, and he thinks he shouldn’t have drawn his attention. “A weapon. Perhaps so.” He makes a slow circuit, out of sight and back. “A weapon that thinks and speaks. Do you choose, as well, who wields you?”

He doesn’t let himself focus on Loki of Asgard’s eyes. No information, that’s safe. Safer than choosing anything.

“You have no information. I wonder why. I give you the choice, Winter Soldier. To be ruled by this man - or kill him.”

Rollins brought him on this mission half-thawed, lacking needed information - who the hell is Captain America? If Rollins lives, there will be more missions like this, more excuses. It takes an instant, to squeeze and then open his hand. It takes Rollins longer to die. He returns to attention, and only listens. 

“Very good. Report to Agent Barton, my archer. Accompany his strike team. Seek out Captain America, and -” Loki smiles, lips closed and thin. “And seek information. Choose then.” And then Loki of Asgard is gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shit. How are you here. You are not supposed to be here.” The Winter Soldier, prematurely defrosted during Loki's invasion of Earth, goes looking for Captain America.

When the helicarrier stops listing, stops falling, the Winter Soldier makes his way to the safe room nearest the quarters assigned to Captain America. Steven Rogers. New York, served in Europe in 1943-1945, lost in combat. The carrier’s records say, recovered alive from the Arctic. Enhanced strength, healing. 

The layout of the ship is understood without being familiar. SHIELD personnel will sweep the helicarrier for Loki’s strike team; they will not find this hiding place. 

Captain America will return to quarters, and he will - what? _Seek out Captain America. Choose_. It is not necessary that he understand. 

From here he can follow SHIELD’s radio chatter. Damage reports. Sweeps for remaining hostiles. 

The door opens. Closes quickly. “Shit. How are you here. You are not supposed to be here.”

The room is tight, for two. Alone was better. “I have a mission.”

“Not here you don’t. Jesus Fucking Christ. No mission. No nothing. Leave the engines the fuck alone. You stay here until someone comes to get you. Understood? Get out of the chair.”

The helicarrier will fly back to dry land, if it can. Insufficient structural integrity to risk a water landing. Then, repairs. Guards. Days before he can be recovered from the ship. And his target is here _now_.

“I have a mission,” he repeats. “I do not require assistance.”

“Your mission is Stay. Here. _I_ require the radio. What the fuck did that crazy alien bastard tell you? He’s not authorized to give orders. Even you could see he’s not one of us.”

This man is not authorized to give orders either. Only to stand guard over the techs and keep his mouth shut. Only to _follow_ orders in the field. His assistance is not required.

“He said I give you the choice.” 

“What the hell does that even mean?”

That’s the last thing he says. The Winter Soldier uses a knife, catches the corpse and lowers it to the floor. 

That’s what the _crazy alien bastard’s_ order meant, he realizes, the last piece sliding into place. Seek out Captain America and - choose, like the agent. Kill him, or let himself be used. It is better, having clear orders. The safe room is still cramped. 

Until _Captain America on the flight deck_ is reported to the bridge. He goes. If there were people in his way, he doesn’t remember. Only that there’s one quinjet just closing its rear hatch for takeoff, and he is not getting left behind. 

He’s attacked immediately - throws the assailant into the wall. She shouts: “Clint, take off.” 

Two in the back, one down. One at the controls, ‘Clint’. The rear hatch has stopped closing, reverses, and then he’s fighting to stay inside, being herded back towards the edge. The Widow jumps him, claws his mask off to get at his eyes, before he throws her again. His fist hits something that doesn’t bend, and the Captain shoves him back another few feet. 

The Widow doesn’t take her next turn, and he finally gets a look at his target. He was wrong, about the mission. There isn’t a choice to make, only the shock of recognition. Him. I know him. The choice is so clear it doesn’t seem like a choice at all. 

He hears “Now!” and even as the Captain calls _wait_ , the deck tilts, sending both of them sliding. Except the Captain’s near the wall, and he’s got nothing to grab for except the open deck. Clever. The Captain makes a grab for him; he jerks his hand out of reach. He’d pull the Captain down with him. 

He gets a hold, finally, at the very edge of the hatch. Useless, because the Widow can close the hatch on his hand. Or wait - minutes, maybe, before the metal gives way. That, too, feels familiar. The wind, and the cold, and the Captain shouting. _I knew him._

The quinjet levels off, until he’s trailing in the jet’s wake, and maybe - 

It overcorrects for a split second, nose slightly down. It’s enough to bend his arm, and that’s all he needs.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the lookalike was sent to distract him, why the mask? If he was supposed to talk his way in, why doesn’t he have a story? If he’s supposed to be Bucky Barnes, why isn’t he the Bucky Steve remembers? Maybe almost falling knocked it out of him, but Steve keeps thinking that Loki could do better than this.

Steve can't hear himself scream over the rushing wind. He can’t get a good hold on the metal hand, the only thing that’s keeping - whoever he is - hanging onto the plane. And he can’t reach his other hand, any further and he’ll be sucked out too. 

And then the metal arm moves, bends against the force of the wind, and the man’s other arm comes up. Steve grabs it and pulls back hard, enough for the man to get a leg up, and then the rest, and half-roll, half-scramble away from the gaping rear of the plane, to huddle in a corner. Barton’s standing ready to defend the cockpit; he looks down, shrugs, and sits back down at the controls. 

“Close it up,” he orders Agent Romanov. He can’t hear that either over the roaring in his ears. As soon as it’s shut, Steve goes to the man in the corner. His hair is loose and tangled, falling in his face as he shakes. He grips one of the seat supports hard enough to dent it. The other hand holding something tight. When Steve gets close, he tilts his hand just enough to show it. Grenade. He doesn’t say a word; the threat’s clear enough.

“Too dangerous to have on board,” Romanov says. “That’s the Winter Soldier.” She’s kept her distance, hasn’t seen the grenade yet.

“He’s along for the ride now. Winter Soldier?” 

“Old name for a spook conspiracy theory,” Barton offers without turning around. “They use it to explain Soviet bullets in unexpected places. He shot Nat, you should let her throw him out.” 

“Request denied. Hawkeye, what do you know?” It feels like he - this soldier - is of a piece with the guns in the hold, an awful piece of the unburied past. But if he’s not a nightmare, he must have come aboard with Loki’s people.

“Not much. He looked like hell at first - withdrawal, maybe. Cleaned up in time for the mission. He’s Russian, like we thought. Soviet-era weapons, the star on his arm - that’s the only insignia on him. Professional gear, and he follows orders.”

Romanov adds, “Sniper. Specializes in impossible shots, rarely leaves witnesses. He’ll make his move just before we land.”

“Then we have time. Agent Barton, get us some altitude. We’ll handle this.” 

Steve means he’ll handle it. He doesn’t want anything to do with Loki’s twisted joke, but it’s his responsibility. Steve crouches down again, and the agents keep talking over him. He catches bits of it - Rollins was another SHIELD agent. Dead, his throat crushed. Natasha was SHIELD too, and the Winter Soldier shot her. 

The Winter Soldier has a couple days' worth of stubble, and smells like he hasn't had a bath in about as long. Smells like something else under that - sharp and chemical. As fast as he moved, as strong as he was - he could have stolen his own ride if he were just trying to get off the helicarrier. He wanted to be here, with them. Loki sent this man here, looking like Bucky Barnes - his face, anyway. Bucky was leaner, and the hair - well, that’s a disaster even in this century. It doesn’t make sense, so Steve has to play along until he can see the trick. And, his cue. "Bucky?"

The man focuses on him. "Who the hell is ‘Bucky’?" 

Steve can hear the incredulity, hear the man imitating how he said his dead best friend’s name. Steve doesn’t hit him. Not for saying the name like it’s something ridiculous. Not for sounding so much like Bucky when he does. “That’s who you’re supposed to be, jerk.” Well, Steve wouldn’t be coddling _Bucky_ either, if he’d made a crack like that.

The man who isn’t Bucky snaps back. “News to me, pal.” He looks away, then back, the flash of temper erased. “What do I need to do?” 

Steve doesn’t tell him to go jump off a bridge. Mostly because of how he’s still clinging to the plane. “You should have asked Loki. Did he make you look like that?”

Bucky starts to raise a hand to his face, stops: the grenade. “I don’t look like anything.”

“Your face, did Loki change your face? Did he tell you to take the mask off when you found me?”

“The Widow pulled that off,” the man says. Without gesturing, this time. “I don’t look like anything. No-one sees me.” 

Natasha says something in Russian, and then: “He will stab you in the back the second it’s turned.” She’s perched at the far side of the plane. Best view, best mobility. No straps. 

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” Steve says over his shoulder. “Slide me a pair of handcuffs, and the key?”

He needs to get the grenade out of play. When the handcuffs come over, he snaps one cuff around his left wrist. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to put the pin back in that grenade and give it to me. We stay cuffed together, you keep the key. Anyone tries to push you out of the plane, I go too. It’s a fair trade.” The handcuffs aren’t reinforced. He could pull them off, and that metal arm could do it too. He can see the man making the same calculations. Well, it was worth a try.

“Understood.” The Winter Soldier visibly braces himself before letting go of the plane to produce the pin, slide it back into the grenade. He holds it out to Steve. 

Steve locks the handcuffs to the man’s right wrist, takes the grenade at the same time, trading it for the key. “There. I’ve got you.” It’s a weak joke. But if you can get someone complaining about your lousy sense of humor instead of thinking about how they might die - that’s a win, too.

None of it makes sense. If the lookalike was sent to distract him, why the mask? If he was supposed to talk his way in, why doesn’t he have a story? If he’s supposed to be Bucky Barnes, why isn’t he the Bucky Steve remembers? Maybe almost falling knocked it out of him, but Steve keeps thinking that Loki could do better than this. “Where the hell did you come from?”

He doesn’t really expect an answer, and he doesn’t get one. “I was waiting for you.” The man sounds annoyed about that, too. Maybe he’s just always pissed off. 

“I’m here. Now what?”

The man looks at him, a moment. “You tell me.” 

“I tell you...” He looks back at Natasha; she doesn’t have anything but suspicion. “I tell you what to do next?” 

“Yes. That is correct,” the Winter Soldier insists. “I -” he comes up short suddenly. He’d had a stubborn look like Bucky got sometimes, and it just falls away. Steve waits a moment, but he doesn’t start up again. 

“You want to tell me who you are, first?”

“A weapon.”

“That’s not a name.” Maybe he’s a robot soldier, Steve thinks fleetingly. It’s the future, why not. “What do people call you?”

"The asset." 

"That’s not a name, and you know it. Try again.” 

Steve watches the Winter Soldier settle back into a tight-lipped frown, his eyes shift back to the plane’s back hatch. As long as they’re here, he’s the good guy by default. 

“The Fist of HYDRA.” He says that one with a twist of his mouth, a slow-motion flinch like he doesn’t taste of it and knows Steve won’t either. Steve doesn’t, not after finding SHIELD’s stockpile of HYDRA weapons. He’s going to have questions for Director Fury.

But first, this guy has a name, and it can’t be Bucky Barnes, and he’s going to make him say so. “I am not going to call you that. I want a name. Now.” The Winter Soldier flinches away. 

“Rogers.” Agent Romanov, behind him. “He may not know. If he’s from - there are places he might have come from. He may not know.” She has a point. The man could have given twenty fake names by now, Steve wouldn’t know the difference. He could have swallowed poison like a good HYDRA agent. Or threatened to blow them out of the sky again.

Good cop, right. “Do the best you can. I’m not asking for more.” 

Steve wouldn’t have heard him if he weren’t right there. Might not even have seen his lips move. “Steve?“ 

God. He wasn’t afraid when the Winter Soldier forced his way aboard, and there wasn’t time to be, when he almost fell. He’s afraid now. Because if it’s not a cheap trick - he has to force himself to finish the thought. If it’s not Loki’s trick, then Bucky survived. And HYDRA spent the next seventy years working him over. Turned Steve’s best friend into a weapon, an asset, the fist of HYDRA. 

The Winter Soldier doesn’t notice; he looks a thousand miles away, like some of the men used to get during the war. “Right here, buddy. You with me?” Bucky had always snapped back quick enough when someone talked to him.

“Till the end - ” he answers. Then he blinks and that moment of - lucidity? distraction? _Bucky?_ \- is gone. He’s focusing again, with the start of a scowl. “I hear you. What is the mission?”

If this man is half as broken as he seems, Steve has no business leading him into anything. If he’s as dangerous as Natasha thinks, they need him. If he’s Bucky, HYDRA, or both... there just isn’t time. Not now. 

“We’re going to New York City to stop Loki from invading Earth. If we can’t stop him, we’ll stop his army.”

The Winter Soldier looks at the two SHIELD agents for the first time, then stares at Steve for a full minute. “An army.” Bucky would have told him off, Steve thinks, for trying so hard to get himself killed. The Winter Soldier’s flat voice isn’t exactly enthusiastic.

Steve grins like he’s selling war bonds again. “Yep.” An alien army they know nothing about, because even Thor hadn’t ever heard of Chitauri. 

“An army,” the Winter Soldier repeats, sour. “And a god. And the three of you.” He shrugs. “So we will die first, and perhaps fast.”

“HYDRA’s next.” The Winter Soldier winces at that - and unlocks the handcuffs Steve had nearly forgotten. Pulls the metal off Steve’s wrist.

Steve turns to look at Agent Romanov, now. “Winter Soldier’s with us. Barton, clear to land.” 

“Your funeral,” Natasha says, and Steve smiles at her too. Optimistic, really. It’s just like the old days - a few months ago, for him. If things go wrong, they won’t get funerals. Steve turns back to find his recruit glaring at her. 

“Have you eaten?” The Soldier - Bucky - eats two energy bars and drinks a bottle of water, so he isn’t a vampire or a robot. Werewolf? That would still be better than HYDRA’s trophy super-soldier.

“Two minutes,” Barton calls, and then there’s a barely-averted brawl when the Winter Soldier tries to get into the cockpit and Romanov moves to stop him. It turns out he only wanted the half-mask he’d lost earlier. He snaps that back into place. It looks like a muzzle. Steve doesn’t like it, how it makes the man look angrier, less human.

Steve watches him open the quinjet’s locker and start loading himself up with as much as he can carry - more grenades, ammunition, at least two more guns. “An army, you said,” the soldier reminds him, voice clear through the mask. 

“Don’t die,” Steve tells him. “That’s an order.”

And then they hit ground.


End file.
